


Regardless of Any Distractions

by Isagel



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Age Difference, Dominance/submission, F/F, Gunplay, Guns, Mentors, Porn Battle, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isagel/pseuds/Isagel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hallmark of a great agent is the ability to keep one's objective in focus, regardless of any distractions that may arise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regardless of Any Distractions

The door opens and closes as Zoe is firing off the last few rounds in the magazine, light briefly spilling in from the corridor, letting her know that she's no longer alone on the shooting range. She ignores the distraction and squeezes the trigger again, her muscles vibrating with the recoil, the paper target swaying with the hit. She drops the empty magazine and lays the gun down on the shelf in front of her, presses the button to bring the target to her, sliding on its steel wire across the room. With her earmuffs on, she's heard no footsteps behind her, no tell-tale click of sharp heels on the concrete floor, but she picks up the familiar scent of Chanel perfume through the sting of gunpowder and feels the warmth of another body in her space before Tessa comes into her field of vision, leaning around her to inspect the placement of her shots.

She knows she's a good shot, and the spray pattern of holes at the centre of the paper speaks for itself, but she still catches herself standing a little straighter, a flutter of adrenaline in her veins, waiting for a verdict. It's not the same for Tom or Danny, she's aware of that, but for her, Tessa's opinion has always weighed as heavily as Harry's, Tessa's approval has always caused that same glow in her chest, of being a good officer, of performing to expectations. She would do anything to avoid the steel edge of Tessa's disappointment.

And perhaps all that should be different now, but it isn't. It has just acquired new dimensions.

She pulls her earmuffs down to hang around her neck and wishes Tessa weren't such a consummate spook, that she were able to read the thoughts behind her face. But Tessa is all strict, professional lines in her grey suit, and the cool lines of her profile reveal as little as the crisp elegance of her body language. It's strange, that a person you've touched in every way can seem so untouchable.

“Not bad,” Tessa says, leaning back against the partition separating Zoe's firing point from the next. And there it is, that rush of warmth up her spine: _Good girl._ “Although I would advice you to practice more with this.” She lays a pistol down on the shelf. A Baby Browning, much smaller than the British Army standard issue Hi-Power Zoe has been shooting. “You shouldn't forget what your tasks are likely to be, as a female agent in the field. This is the gun that will fit in your silk hand bag at the opera, that won't ruin the attractive silhouette of your designer coat. You can even wear it beneath your gown, provided it's not too tight. And provided, of course, that you aren't expecting any roving hands up your skirt.”

Zoe takes the gun in her hand. She doesn't practice often with a .22, Tessa is right about that, and it feels light, almost weightless after the HP. She checks the magazine – automatic movements, drilled into her. The metal is cold, but she can imagine it warm from Tessa's skin, can see her, in her Cold War days, behind enemy lines, a Browning just like this one nestled against her thigh, an intimate secret held safe from everyone she smiled at, deadliness disguised beneath the flowing silk of her cocktail dress.

It's a magnificent image. Intimidating.

It's too easy to imagine her own hand, sliding up the slender curve of Tessa's leg, silk slithering over her knuckles, Tessa's thigh so soft under her touch, her fingers brushing up against the pistol where it waits in its holster. Tessa would grab her wrist, grip bruising, drag her hand to where she wanted it. Tessa is the one who sets the pace.

She can't help but say it, though, looking up from the gun as she racks the slide, a sideways glance at Tessa's face, a smile that is playful, inviting:

“Unless, of course, they are friendly hands.”

Tessa holds her gaze for a long moment. Her eyes are sharp, assessing. Zoe always feels as though she sees straight through her, calculating every angle of her emotions, of her desires. She's a good spook, one of the best or Tessa wouldn't give her the time of day, but there is nothing she knows how to hide here.

“Of course,” Tessa says at last. She turns and moves forward to change the target, unclipping the shot-up sheet of cardboard, replacing it with a new one, sends it away across the room with a press of the button. She tilts her head towards it, the straight edge of her page-cut hair swaying with the motion. “Go on.”

Zoe replaces her earmuffs and raises the gun – steady in both hands, feet apart at shoulder width. Tessa pulls a pair of earplugs from her pocket and moves to stand behind her. Her hand sweeps over Zoe's waist as she passes; open palm, following the curve of her body from front to back, the caress unhesitating, as if touching what is without question hers. Zoe's heart picks up its pace.

Tessa's hand stays on her hip. Tessa's warmth presses in against her back.

There is the softness of breasts against her shoulder-blades.

With the heels Tessa is wearing, they're almost of a height, and she feels Tessa's breath against the side of her neck, against the edge of her earlobe when Tessa lifts one muff away to speak into her ear.

“The hallmark of a great agent,” she says, “is the ability to keep one's objective in focus, regardless of any distractions that may arise.” Her lips graze Zoe's throat. “Don't stop firing, darling.”

The earmuff drops back into place.

Zoe takes a deep breath. Closes her eyes and opens them. Takes aim and squeezes the trigger.

Tessa's hands slide around her, up to undo the buttons on her shirt. The top few were already undone. It only takes two more to let Tessa slip her hand inside, to let her fingers dip into Zoe's bra, cupping her breast.

Zoe stiffens.

“Tessa,” she says, a warning.

As if she knows what Zoe's thinking, Tessa says:

“They're doing maintenance work on the surveillance system today. The cameras on this level aren't scheduled to come back online until this afternoon.” Her voice is faint through the ear protection, but the words are clear enough, as is the touch of sarcasm. “Colin and Malcolm aren't going to be watching any unfortunate recordings of you with my hand down your knickers, so don't worry yourself.” She squeezes Zoe's breast, catches her nipple between forefinger and thumb. Zoe's breath stutters, the gun trembles in her hand. “Now go on.”

She bites her lip, makes her shoulders loosen. Fires the second shot. There isn't much recoil to speak of from the .22, but what there is still presses her body backwards, dips it against the unbending wall of Tessa behind her. Tessa's thumb rubs at her nipple, her other hand sliding down across Zoe's belly, then up, beneath the hem of her shirt.

The third shot is dead on target, she doesn't need an up-close look to know that. The certainty of it fills her with a rush of strength, of wildness, pushing outwards through her body, meeting, merging with the heat spreading from Tessa's touch. She holds her hips still, forces them not to seek Tessa's hand as she pops the button on her trousers, pulls the zip down. The fourth shot follows the trajectory of the third.

Tessa slips her hand inside her trousers, inside her pants, manicured nails carding downwards through her pubic hair, so slowly, and she has to take a moment, an eternity of stillness between shots, waiting, poised on the tip of anticipation, squeezing the gun too tight, feeling Tessa's breath, warm and quick against the back of her neck. Then it's there, the press of fingers on her clit, and her body shudders with it, arcs in Tessa's arms, a soft moan escaping her lips. Tessa kneads her breast, just on the verge of too hard, ruthless and perfect, and her fingers begin to move, a firm, steady circle between her legs, so good, relentless. She can hear her own breathing through the earmuffs.

“I believe you have two more shots to go, darling,” Tessa says.

“Bugger,” Zoe says. Tries to hold the gun still, tries to make her eyes focus on the sight.

“Don't get sloppy now,” Tessa says. Her fingers dig in rough, a sudden pressure against Zoe's clit, unmoving, still. Not letting up. Zoe can feel herself pulsing, her flesh throbbing, desperate, caught between the hard bone inside her and the hard strength of Tessa's fingers. She lets out a whine, almost angry with her need, the near pain of it, the awareness of her swollen clit sharp like needles, and her eyes are clear with it, her hands beyond the point of shaking, steady as her voice when she gives a false name.

She squeezes the trigger two times in rapid succession, slams the gun down on the shelf in front of her.

“Yes,” Tessa says. “That's my girl.”

And her fingers are moving again, quick, quick, just right on Zoe's clit, and Zoe is resting her hands on the shelf, trembling arms holding her weight, the flat of the Browning pushing up into her palm, and she's grinding herself into the raw pleasure of Tessa's touch, hips beyond her control, panting with it. It's too much, not enough, she can't take it, she wants it to go on forever, she's going to break with it... And then she does, the climax shooting through her like a bullet, tearing through the core of her. If she screams, at least the room is sound-proofed to hold it in.

Afterwards, as her breath tries to settle back into her lungs, she is vaguely aware of Tessa releasing her breast, reaching past her to push the controls and bring the target back to them. She can't keep herself from chasing the aftershocks, rubbing in little stutters of her hips against Tessa's fingers, but she looks up, wanting to see how she did.

Two bullets have gone wide, outside the circle lines of the bullseye. The rest are clustered near the centre. None have missed the target entirely.

Tessa's free hand comes up to stroke Zoe's hair back, a soothing pet.

“Considering the circumstances,” she says, coolly. “I do think I'm obliged to reward top marks for that.”

Quite likely it's a bit sad, how Zoe's whole being sings with the pleasure of the praise, stands taller with it, the warm glow of it spilling into the haze of her orgasm, sensation and emotion mingling beyond separation. All she feels, though, is wonderful.

From somewhere, Tessa produces another magazine, lays it down next to the gun. Between Zoe's legs her fingers slide deeper, further back, the lightest touch circling the wet rim of her opening.

“Could you do that again, I wonder,” she says, “with my fingers inside you?”

Zoe's breath hitches.

She lifts the Browning and releases the empty magazine.


End file.
